It was beyond midnight now. The majority of the firm's workers had gone home and the offices were dark and emptied out for the most part. A quietness had settled upon the place which was oddly comforting considering the frenzied drama of earlier in the evening. Gunn had gone home almost immediately, but others had lingered. Wesley had retreated to his own office, ostensibly to work on the spell detailing he'd been planning to do. But in truth, he was shaken.

Sam Lawson had invaded their workspace. Terrorised them. And they'd nearly been killed before Angel had managed to defeat him. But that wasn't what had shaken Wes. No, what was worse was that the vampire had terrorised Fred and she had nearly been killed. It was bad enough that Gunn had also been in danger, but the image of Fred balanced precariously on her desk chair, her eyes wide with fright...he couldn't seem to get it out of his mind.

He'd taken a break to clear his head, making some hot, honey sweetened tea for his sore throat. Then without even thinking about it, he'd made a second cup and gone to check on Fred. Somehow he'd known in his gut that she hadn't left yet, either.

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She sat in the dark, gaze never settling on any point in particular as it drifted across her lab. From her perch in the office Fred could see close to the whole of it, all dressed and draped in shadows. At one point her eyes flickered just above the place where Lawson had initially confronted her, and Fred's fingers caught tight on the underside of her desk as her hands gripped at the flat surface. She could feel how bits of wood filled in the spaces underneath her nails.

She'd been the first person he'd picked, clearly measured and judged to be the weakest. But for once, that didn't threaten to unravel her the way it might once have. No, that privileged was reserved for the memory of her friends' lives being threatened one after the other. Of watching Wesley being brought into the room. Angel battling Lawson with a hastily fashioned stake.

Fred swallowed hard, and her throat protested. Abused, frayed muscles fired. Maybe it was finally time to think about going home. She was just about to claim her keys when the lab door pushed open.

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Wes had to push the door open with his backside. Not exactly the most dignified of entrances. "Hey..." He murmured, his own voice sounding a little hoarse and strained. He couldn't help the slightly concerned crease to his brow as his gaze swept over her from head to toe; mentally reassuring himself that she was all right. "I had a feeling you were still here."

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It took her a moment to fully recognize Wesley, pulling herself back into the present. Realizing that his hands were full she stood, if only to make certain he didn't need any help in the final steps up into her office.

"...we all are, despite certain efforts to the contrary."

It was a flash of darker humor, one Fred rarely let herself entertain. Up until that moment she'd been certain she would be the last one out, at least when it came into the parking garage. And looking at Wesley just reinforced the reasons why. Here, at work, she could delay the inevitable. Home and the silence of her apartment meant finally, fully processing what'd happened to them that night. Just how much worse it might have been.

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Wes nodded, understanding the deeper layer to her words. Once he'd finally handed off the tea, he stood in silence, watching her, sipping on his own tea. It wasn't awkward so much as heavy with the significance of what they'd both been through earlier in the day.

He wanted to ask her if she was all right. But he was mindful of how she'd called him patronising in the past. He didn't want her to think he believed she was any less strong or resilient than he or Gunn. She'd survived far worse in Pylea, after all. There was a part of him, however, which would never stop wanting to protect her from harm, no matter the cost.

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Fred leaned back into her desk, both hands wrapped tight around the circumference of the mug when she wasn't drinking from it. It sip was longer and more deliberate than before, often concluding with Fred leveling her gaze onto Wesley over the ceramic edges.

She didn't question him being here. It was one of the few things she didn't question lately, since her own realizations that felt like they'd turned just about everything end-over-end. But Wesley's presence? Well, Fred could admit to herself that she'd come to count on it. More than ever in the past few weeks.

"...it's good," she finally moved to answer his question, realizing she'd allowed the silence to stretch. "It hurts." Awareness followed, of how that sounded. "I mean, it's good that it hurts. I want it to."

It meant that she was here for it to hurt. There was a dozen ways she could have articulated that better, but Fred suspected she didn't need to.

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Wes shifted closer, leaning against the desk next to Fred but not so close as to be touching her.

"Better than being numb," he murmured in agreement. It was how he'd felt about losing Cordelia and the sentiment hadn't changed. "Although, I think the shock of it is still...it hasn't quite dissipated yet."

Glancing over at Fred, he couldn't help but see the wire marks on her throat. They would fade within a day or two, but the redness was stark and angry against her lovely pale skin. For a jarring moment, he almost wished Lawson wasn't dusted, just so that he could have the privilege himself of ending the vampire's undead life.

She was right, it hurt. In so many ways. But somehow it was the sort of hurt which reminded him that he was alive, and that time was so very short. Especially for those who didn't have a preternatural safety net to fall back on. But he knew in his heart that both he and Fred didn't want that. Were proud of what they'd achieved with the limitations and gifts they'd been born with.

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"No," Fred agreed quietly, twisting her mug again. Another sip of how tea followed. "It's still...I can still feel it." Feel it everywhere, actually. Every muscle ached up and down the length of her after the hours on tension and control needed to stay up on that chair. Wesley had to be the same. Silently, Fred looked down at her bare feet. She hadn't been able to bring herself to look for her shoes yet.

Somewhere along the way Lawson had tugged them off after their initial struggle. She'd fought him until the moment Fred felt the wire first slip around her neck, and then self-reservation had kicked in. Left alone on the chair, and desperate to distract herself from the thought of one of the others being hurt, she's spent no small amount of time calculating the amount of force needed before things turned deadly. And it always came back to one place.

Not much.

Dragging her attention back out of that place, Fred looked back at Wesley. The pressure in her chest eased slightly. "I'm glad too," Fred managed softly, degrees of speech now available to her again thanks to Wesley's tea. "That you're here. You know that, don't you?"

Almost recklessly, Fred held his gaze. Wondering what it was he saw. Maybe this was the last place sand time to be sorting how the finer points of how she felt, or if there was anything still lingering on Wesley's part. But she hadn't started breathing again -- not really -- until he'd found her in the lab. And that felt like something he should know.

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He could feel it too. The muscles he'd tensed, trying to keep his balance, but also in worrying for both Fred's and Charles' lives. Even Angel's, for that matter. The adrenaline had spiked, but now, now they were in the chemical and emotional trough which had inevitably followed.

Fred's gaze was more direct than usual, and for a fleeting moment he harboured the idea that she was trying to impart to him something deeper and more profound than her words. But he dared not believe it. As much as he knew that she cared for him, she'd never ever displayed more than a deep friendship. To presume so now...

He just couldn't. Couldn't make that leap. He'd been burned too many times before. And presumed too much.

Still, that didn't prevent him from nodding and offering a slightly more intimate smile. One meant for her and her alone. He looked down at his tea immediately afterwards, though, taking another soothing sip.

There was something weighing on his mind. He wasn't sure if he had any place to bring it up. But the longer he stared down at his mug, the more he felt compelled to bring it up. He was certain, however, that her reception to his suggestion wouldn't be a warm one.

"I've been thinking that perhaps it might be time for you to take a vacation. To visit your parents in Texas. I know how much you miss them. I took a brief sabbatical myself and I highly recommend it."

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Fred continued to watch Wesley as he looked away, her tired mind trying its best to translate what just transpired. Had he just not seen? Or was he somehow sending her a silent message of his own. It felt like the worst possible night to be navigating her way towards any kind of answer.

But when was there a good night? When was there last good night?

The only one Fred could think of that even came close was the first night Wesley stayed over to her place, and they'd stayed up late eating Chinese food. And talking. Honestly, she'd enjoyed that even more. But that night only happened because he'd nearly burned up along with his apartment.

She was so tired of everything coming in degrees.

Fred stiffened at Wesley's suggestion, and immediately regretted it. Her entirely body - from tip to tired toe - protested. And it was only going to be worse in the morning. But she continued to stare at him, not entirely certain she'd heard him correctly.

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"I was just saying that it might be a good time for a visit." He could hear the disbelief in her voice that he would even suggest such a thing. But he wasn't going to apologise for broaching the subject. "Not long ago you were telling me people would understand if I took time off after Cordelia passed away."

It wasn't that he wanted her to go away. It was just getting to a point where every few days something would happen that would make him wonder who would be next. They were running out of lucky close calls. To lose Fred now would absolutely break him. He knew that without a doubt. So if he could convince her to take herself out of the line fire, even if it was just for a short amount of time, of course he was going to do his best to sell her on the idea.

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Fred waves one hand in her body's confused attempt to both search for a point and actually make it, all at once. She realized she was still holding her mug of tea and placed it on the desk with no small amount of force.

"Why me? Just because we spent a night suspended on desk chairs with..." And now she was dangerously close to glossing over things. But that felt easier, in the moment. Bearable. Because to stop and think, to really consider how she could've lost any of them? How she could have lost Wesley, right when --

"Is Charles going to be taking some time off too? Or maybe Angel? He could take a little trip to Ireland. Or maybe see Buffy again? Why don't we all just back up and leave?

Because they couldn't.

The stress of the evening was finally starting to show. Wesley, suddenly, was too close. She could feel the heat radiating off him from where he leaned against her desk, just inches away. Logically, Fred knew it wasn't a horrible suggestion. There was a lot of good in it. And she did miss her folks. But on the heels of an impossibly long month and certain new understandings on her part? Her reaction wasn't logical. It was emotional. She turned to face Wesley, feelings tumbling their way into words.

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He'd upset Fred, that much was clear. But did he really have to explain to her his reasoning? As soon as she set the mug down, he straightened and dispensed with his as well, putting his hands on his hips and watching her round on him.

"Yes. Exactly that. Because we spent a night suspended on desk chairs trying not to get our heads cut off while Angel fought with an old enemy. I couldn't do a damned thing. None of us could. I'm tired of feeling helpless. Of wondering which one of us will be the next target. We've all got bulls eyes on our backs right now and I don't-"

He brings himself up short. He's straying too close to emotions he feels he has no right to reveal.

"Of course I want you here, Fred. You're a valuable part of the team. But you have to admit that things have been getting worse. There have been more attacks. More close calls. Cordelia died, for god's sake. Would it be so bad to get away from it all for a while? I just want you to be safe. Or at least safer than we are right now."

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Her expression softened, but just barely. Hurt tinged with anger was still all to visible on her features. And Fred could feel it. The way that she felt just about everything right now.

"...I'd still have to come back. At some point, I would have to. This is my life Wesley. I made my choice."

Her voice was deeper than usual, fractured and raw. Unfiltered emotion was creeping into the open spaces.

"And why just me? Why not you? You're the one that got firebombed. And say what you want we never cleared that up, once and for all. How do you think I'd feel, back in Texas? Being the one that ran away and left everyone behind. Wondering if everything's alright. If you're ok. If you are safe."

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She was putting her foot down, but he wasn't finished yet. Reaching for her shoulders, he attempted to make her listen, to take in what he was trying to say.

"You are the only one who still has any family to speak of, Fred. One that still cares deeply for you. Worries about you. None of the others do. My parents might be alive but we're not close. Not like yours are to you. I know you made your choice, but you can unmake it. You can."

It wasn't that his own life didn't matter to him, of course it did. As did everyone else's. But Fred's life was the most precious to him. He couldn't bear the thought of something happening to her, he just couldn't. He could see Fred's stricken face again in his mind's eye, with her perched so precariously upon that chair, trying not to falter, worried for all of them. It made his throat constrict painfully, and it felt as if the breath was being robbed from his body as he struggled to continue speaking.

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His hands on her shoulders caused sensitive muscles to fire and protest, but not in a way Fred could object to. Much like the tea, it kept her there. Back in the office with Wesley. Kept her mind from considering a half dozen, far more unbearable what-ifs of how the evening might've played out. Wesley's touch might not've felt good, but it made her feel. And in that moment, it was everything.

"But I don't want to unmake it." The words were quiet. He was standing right in front of her, after all. "I meant it, what I said about making my choice. When I was in Pylea, I saw...just about every horrible thing one person can conceive doing to another, I saw it." Lived it. "I knew what I was getting into when I decided not to go back to Texas. My folks did too. And they still supported my decision. If it's possible I loved them even more for it than I already did. But I can't go back. It's not who I am anymore."

Fred drifted into silence, swallowing hard in a desperate attempt to ease the burning in her throat. It was too many words at once. One ramble too many. But quiet didn't mean still, and her gaze navigated its way downward by shallow degrees. Settled on the raw, jagged line that marred Wesley's throat. It reminded her of the things they still weren't saying. Some hurts you could shield yourself from, mentally protect your mind from whatever was being done to to your body. But Lawson's wire, wrapped so tightly against their necks, had made it an impossibility. Every single breath no matter how restrained had caused it to crush fresh marks against their skin. How all to easily any one of them -- Charles, Wesley -- could die.

"...it's not that I'm not listening Wesley. I am. When you can do things, you should." Her eyes remained on his neck. The places where protesting skin actually faded into shallow cuts with traces of dried blood. It'd been so close. "Is that really what you can do? That's your choice. To ask me to leave?"

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Wes sighed, dropping his hands back down to his sides, nodding in resignation.

"It's your decision, of course. I know you meant it. That you aren't naive, you know what you're getting into. But as every day goes by, I can't help thinking that this is a sinking ship. We may owe it to Angel to stick with him to the bitter end, but...I don't want that for you."

He wanted so much more for her. Wanted Fred to have a life that made up for those harrowing lonely years in Pylea. He wanted her to be happy and safe. To be surrounded by people who loved and cherished her, not be in an environment where there was always someone lurking in the background, intent on causing her harm because of her choice to be a part of this.

"I wish--"

So many things he would have changed, done differently if he'd only known how it might have played out. It wasn't normally something he did, allowing himself to be wistful. He'd always accepted the consequences of his actions, the mistakes he'd made, the opportunities he'd missed. But right now, in this very moment, he wanted to change everything. Selfishly turn back time and make it end differently. Rewrite their fortunes. Best out of three, right?

"I wish we'd never come here, Fred. This isn't us. What were we thinking? That we could control this place? Change it before it changed us? It was a mistake. We shouldn't have accepted their offer."

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He removed his hands, and Fred immediately felt adrift. For all that it hurt, she needed it. She needed him. Something she'd been trying to tell Wesley in countless ways since first realizing how she felt. Countless cowardly ways maybe, but they were still there. But why should things suddenly change just because she did? Wesley had made it perfectly clear how he felt before, and even before then she'd come to realize it. Her silence had been her answer. And wasn't that what his silence was now? An answer?

Fred swallowed again, ignoring the fire it stoked as she reached out with one hand to graze Wesley's elbow. To selfishly reestablish contact. With her eyes she asked him not to move.

"You're right," she admitted, all of the doubts collected in the past month carried in those two words. "We probably never should have come here. And logically I know it was a mistake. I knew it the minute we got into that limo. But..."

Fred's fingers curled, then relaxed. The last thing Wesley wanted or needed was her clinging. He was undoubtedly hurting too. But again there was the need to remind herself that he was real. That something deadly and far too final hadn't transpired in that office.

...because -- you're not real. Or I'm not real. Somebody here isn't real and I suspect it's you. So if you're not real, that means that my head came off back there and that I'm dead now. Dead. And with me being dead and you not being real I can hardly be expected to have some big conversation with you at the moment...

Some big conversation. Fred very nearly laughed. It was barely a bubble. The start of something before her body protested at the effort from the inside out and it became nothing more than a burst of choked, compressed air.

"...but I can't bring myself to regret it. Maybe this ship is sinking. But I don't feel like I'm drowning. Not anymore."

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He didn't move. Was keenly aware of Fred reaching out to him again. Dropping his gaze for a moment, he tried to hold his own feelings in check. Wasn't that what he wanted? To know that on some level he mattered. That she was listening, even if they didn't agree on everything. It surprised him, then, to hear her admit that he was right. That she, too, had been having strong misgivings. More than just the occasional doubt. The odd sound she made caused him to glance back up at her face again, wanting to understand what was going on beneath the words.

Her final comment actually earned a rueful sort of smirk.

"Going to go down with the ship, come hell or highwater, hmmm? Which, in this case, could very well mean a literal sort of hell."

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Fred was grateful when Wesley finally looked back up, gaze reconnecting with her own. There was more than one way to retreat, a fact she'd learned with hard experience. And there were more than enough places to escape to inside your own head. She didn't want that for him, any more than she didn't want to be the one that drove him to there.

She tempered the sharper edge of his expression with a decisive tilt of her chin, mouth softening.

"That's just it, Wesley. Maybe this is it. Maybe we're right on the edge of where everything falls apart. Cordy..." She didn't finish. Some conversations were still too hard. The truth was even from her hospital bed, Cordy had somehow managed to make the world better. And Fred was still learning to adjust to a world without her in it. "So it goes down. The ship. Where's to say we have to go down with it?"

And yes, Fred suspected the answer might lie in their contracts. That Charles was right, they knew what they were getting into.

"If the ship sinks and there's nothing beneath our feet, it doesn't end there. You kick. You swim. You fight it..." It was only then that Fred realized she was still holding onto Wesley's elbow. Cheeks coloring briefly, she let her hand fall. "You find...you hold onto what's good. And it keeps your head above water."

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Sometimes he needed to be reminded that just because he could imagine the end point, knew the likely way things might go, it didn't mean it was inevitable.

Can I say somethin' about destiny? Screw destiny! If this evil thing comes, we'll fight it and we'll keep fightin' it until we whup it. 'Cause destiny is just another word for inevitable, and nothing's inevitable as long as you stand up, look it in the eye, and say, "You're evitable!

His own expression softened, Fred was right. Right about so many things. And stronger than so many people gave her credit for. When her hand dropped, he moved to catch it again, his fingers gently closing around her own.

"Fred. When did you get to be so wise? Sometimes I feel like I've lost my way. That we've lost our way. But then you remind me again of a simple truth. We fight. That's what we do, who we've become. We don't accept the way things are or will be. No matter how hard it is to keep going on. Or how murky things become. Because anything else is just giving in. Letting the darkness win by default."

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If it wasn't panic in her eyes, it was at least the need for a healthy debate. Fred's gaze settle briefly on the place where their hands were connected, then back up to study his face intently. Looked past the marks on his throat and the obvious evidence of Lawson's attack. Wesley looked tired. She probably didn't look much better.

"...don't say that. Please." Her voice was pitched low again. Not to plead her case but to counter one too many words said by an already sore throat. "It's not like..." It wasn't wisdom, to her mind. It was focus. And she directed it full force on whatever held her attention. A project. A paper. Even a certain person....

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He gave her hand a bracing squeeze, a small smile coming to his lips in response.

"I like your kind of stubbornness. I wish I had more of it myself." He had his own sort of tenacity and strength of will, but often it was undermined by second-guessing himself or being weighed down by a cynical pessimism which had seemed to grow with each passing year. And yet, standing with Fred right now, her hand in his, he found that there were still reserves of hope and determination to draw upon, after all. It was her doing, there was no denying it.

"We'll get through this. We always do. It's just...it's been a bad month. For all of us. I'm just tired, I think. We could really do with something to smile about for a change."

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And she didn't. Not if there was some way it might ease the tight lines that settled around Wesley's mouth. Or the strain in Angel's shoulders. Or Charles and Lorne, however they needed.

His fingers were warm, seeping through her own skin and easing a chill Fred hadn't even realized had settled over her. It was a bothersome thought, one all too easy to linger in. That a body could let itself stop noticing the cold.

A look of resolve passed over her features.

"Ok, so that's it." She looked back at Wesley. "When we go home tonight, we're flipping the calendar. I don't care how many days are left in the month, it's time for a new one."

In a new month, she might even find a way of telling Wesley about whatever this was that she felt. The one thing Fred was sure of -- it didn't belong in this one.

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"That sounds like a brilliant idea. I'm more than ready to be rid of this month and to start a new one. Everyone else can think we're mad, but at least in our heads it will be a fresh start."

Her mention of going home made him realise just how exhausted and drained he really was. Fred probably was, too. Reluctantly he let go of her hand and reached for the mug of tea again. He'd take a few more sips to ease the soreness and then...

"Shall I walk you to your car? I know that security's been tightened up due to Lawson's breach, but it would put my mind at ease if you'd let me."

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Fred wasn't certain she could begin to navigate the tangle of emotions that sat just underneath that statement. Humor, of course. If nothing but because just how true it was. A bit of sadness too, at the fear they'd somehow come to inspire. That had never been her intent, but it it was one of those things that felt bigger than them. Inevitably tied up with this place. The building --

The idea of it.

But mostly? She was just tired. And somehow, Wesley had settled on what she needed, in that moment. Not the escort, precisely. Though she certainly wouldn't turn him away. But...

"Home sounds good." She flashed him a grateful smile, once again aware of how everything hurt. Fred watched for a moment, taking him in while Wesley nursed his tea. The idea that she might be staring came over her slowly.

"Let me just get my shoes."

It wasn't until Fred founds the heels on the floor of her lab that she realized what a poor excuse it'd been. In a swift, decisive gesture she picked them up off the floor and dropped them into the nearest trash can. She had no desire to ever wear them again. The relief was instant, and Fred felt noticeably lighter.

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Being a boss wasn't all it was cracked up to be. He'd found that out the hard way. But it certainly had its perks. And he believed that he was a good employer. He might have had high standards, but he was fair and certainly not the sort of bully his father could be.

In the end, however, they still answered to the Senior Partners. which was a sobering thought. But Fred's words and her presence had given him a renewed resolve. He wouldn't let Wolfram and Hart dictate how he lived his life, or what choices he ultimately made. He'd fight for those moments when his head was above water. And he'd do the same for those around him.

He drank down some more of the now lukewarm tea, waiting for Fred to return. When she did, she didn't have any shoes on, after all. He raised an eyebrow at her, but didn't remark on it.

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Fred wiggled her toes at Wesley's examination, but she was secretly glad when he didn't press any further. The shoes would never make her feel anything but weak, now. And even with their resolve to turn the page tonight, there'd been enough if all their lives lately without questionable footwear.

"Ready." She felt herself smile, and Fred moved to claim her bag before fumbling briefly for the keys inside. As late as she often stayed, Knox usually was the last one out with the responsibility of locking up. But things had been strained lately. And more than that, he'd seemed distracted. After a moment her fingers closed over cool keys underneath several files.

"Just leave the mugs. I can take care of them tomorrow."

Fred switched off a few other non essential lights and then lead the way down from her office and through the darkened lab.

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It didn't take long for them both to retrace his steps to his own office and lock up for the night. Then they were travelling in the elevator down to the parking garage. He glanced over at Fred, feeling a bit more buoyed after having talked to her.

"I wonder what people would think if I came to work barefoot or in sandals," he mused, a very faint smile playing upon his lips.

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Fred glanced over at Wesley as the elevator continued to descend. In the relative quiet that came with the late hour the inner-workings of the mechanics seemed especially loud. Or maybe, again, she was tired.

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"Ah, yes. It would come with some risks attached. But that's what makes you braver than I," he quipped, stepping forward to hold the lift door open so that she could exit now that they'd arrived at the correct floor. "Can you imagine Angel's expression, however, if I did suddenly start sporting roman sandals?"

Wes waited for Fred to lead the way to her car. His was on the floor above, but right now he was focused on ensuring that she left the building safely.

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"You'd break him right out of his trademark brood. And then he'd probably have you checked out for some kind of possession."

The beep of her alarm sounded loudly as the crossed through the now empty garage towards her car. Fred opened the backdoor and dropped her bag inside before turning to face Wesley again, resting her back on the door.

"But I..." She considered the image, in all its absurdity. But wasn't that what they needed? Even if in some small amount? "I think you would look lovely."

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Fred had the absurd desire then to -- well at least to press a kiss to Wesley's cheek. If anything, to thank him. And not just for finding her in the lab that evening, for preventing her from sitting there staring at who knew what until people showed up to work the next morning. For everything, lately. But Fred was fairly certain that Wesley's reaction to the gesture wouldn't have been all the different to Angel and Wesley's hypothetical sandals.

Instead? She nodded. The movement neat and oddly cheerful considering the hour.

"I'll call you when I get home." Fred opened the car door and slid behind the wheel, taking a moment to turn over the ignition. "I promise."

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He watched her go, firmly pushing any lingering wistfulness from his thoughts. She was alive and safe for now, and that was as much as he could possibly wish for.

He'd head home himself and wait for the phone call. Such small moments of human contact, but he wondered what he'd do without them. Cordelia was gone now. Angel was becoming more and more withdrawn. He and Gunn were friendly but nowhere as comradely as they'd once been. Lorne was busier than all of them combined. Spike or Harmony weren't people he could tolerate for long periods of time. And so, in the end, it came down to Fred. Lovely, winsome, stubborn Fred. If only she knew how important she was in terms of keeping him, and the others, afloat. One day, perhaps, he'd have the courage to tell her.